


Counterfeit

by lifeinwords



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeinwords/pseuds/lifeinwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guys and dolls. (Season Two Era)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counterfeit

Lex had just wanted to look, at first. A crash-test dummy, for…re-enactment purposes.

He pulls off the drop cloth and presses his face to the glass.

Clark stares back at him, head tilted down, eyes wide and god, they were good. That innocent sparkle, so easy to misread, had taken four painters with brushes Lex couldn't even see.

Stunned or close to orgasm, Lex could choose his interpretation of that look.

The first step was a kiss, not on the unmoving mouth but the soft neck, scented in ways that Lex now had patented, knobs of shoulders under his teeth.

He had handed over countless photographs, snippets of Clark-hair, clothes, all to ensure accuracy. Precision of form. This was the eighth model, and the first Lex had taken home. The light in his Bluebeard Room was good for it, softened the inevitable errors – no pores, no fine hairs – into his blue-lit confessor.

Would he talk to it tonight, again? Whisper secrets in its ear?

He calls it Clark here, in his head and out loud: “This is what you want; don’t try to tell me differently. Too much time wasted, don’t you think? I should have taken you that first day at the castle, when you were stunned and open and so ready for it.”

Not even a raise of the eyebrows in response.

“I fell off of a horse when I was seven. He was honey-colored, mane perfectly groomed, and so tame that I could walk right under him. We trust, as children. Even with my father. We believe in things. We think parents are gods, and horses are friends.”

He didn't talk, which was unfortunate, but voice matching technology was two years away from accuracy. All of those recordings wasted.

The replica can't stand unassisted. So Lex bought a stand for him, posed him in some valiant rescuing state, frozen, mouth open just wide enough.

He ordered silicone repair kits for 'small tears' but doesn’t let himself open the packaging, imagine the damage he could do, here. With no one but himself watching. Lex wants this dream so badly, nipples always erect, body flexible, no resistance beyond the steel he knows is there, even if he can't touch it.

“I can have anything. You see that now, Clark?”

The cock is detachable so he can fuck himself and watch, turning and writhing toward the photo, the wreck, and the body watching him in the corner. If he wanted to do so, which he would never –

Maybe he could imagine the sounds if he closed his eyes, imagined washing Clark himself, tending his wounds. The limbs wrapping around him without Lex’s manipulation, getting lost in the large hands that would tighten around his own ass. That beautiful weight pressing down completely.

“It’s in you, Clark. The power to take, to own. A conquering hero that the people would idolize, wave banners for and hold parades. Then you could slip away to me.”

Lex didn’t even notice himself removing Clark’s clothing, but now he was laid out like a virgin on a bier.

“Would you come to me? If I asked, would you…”

Losing himself in ribs now, hips and ankles and every handcrafted inch motionless, Lex shuddered and crawled down onto him.

“In love and out of words…”

Sweat dripping and beading like rain on Clark’s skin, Lex mumbles broken quotes and strains closer. He can almost hear a gasp, feel those room-temperature hands warming on his shoulders.

See me, blink your eyes and focus, please, god, “Can’t you see me?”

He speaks.

Lex begs, his body arching toward a broken whisper to his left. Past the blue spotlight, past the edge of his sheets marking the edges of his vision.

“Please, don’t, now, why would you, always, if you wanted, everything –“ and some of that is him, rough grunts he recognizes from his bedroom late at night.

But Lex has to look. Has to push his horse over the jump.

Boots touched the corner of his twisted sheet. The sheet for the wedding night, white so that the virgin blood could show. White with a hole cut in it, so that no unnecessary parts could touch, because lust was a sin. Tiny flakes of mud surrounding feet, and laces worn like his never would be. Wrinkled wings, stained robes, Lex’s eyes filled with that vast absence of color.

There were jeans too, a plaid shirt and a backpack and messy hair and eyes. Lex didn’t need to see them to know.

Moving, something surrounding his face and forcing it up. Warm and strong hands, trembling or maybe that was Lex. The denim-covered knees scratched at his calf.

“Why?”

“If I had asked.”

“It’s wrong. Don’t you…just because you can see it, you think you can make it real.”

“That’s a simplistic way of looking at money, Clark.”

“But you don’t see it. You see what you can have! You’re like some kid hiding in the dark with his toys.”

“And what should I be doing? Following you around, offering and counseling and never having enough? We all have our toys; any teenager with a telescope should know that.”

Lex let go of the body under him, its always-firm cock stroking down his thigh as he knelt at its side. The room had grown colder, and he wanted the sheets over his nakedness, over his head.

“I think, I think that it would be best if you left. Take it with you, if you want. Bury it, burn it,” he choked out a laugh, “take anything here. It’s all yours, anyway.”

“I know.” Clark rose from his knees, stepped off the sheet. He looked down at the stiff mannequin with its arms out, cupping imaginary arms but still staring straight ahead.

Lex bent down to reach the sheet, and as he tugged it toward him he caught a whiff of Clark, mud and wheat and generic soap. He paused just long enough for Clark to grab his hand and pull him away so hard that his arm wrenched in its socket. He would have protested, but the flames springing up behind him made Lex silent.

“Leave it.”

“All right.” Lex held out his empty palms. Let Clark see that he wasn’t taking any evidence this time.

“Whatever you think I am, whatever you created and called my name when you…when you were with it,” Clark ducked his head down and seemed to realize he was still holding Lex’s hand.

“You still wished it was real. That it was me, under you, watching you back.”

Lex couldn’t speak, couldn’t even nod. He waited for Clark to look up.


End file.
